


Date

by what_a_dork_fish



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Blind Date, Dates gone wrong, James is kinda creepy and Q is resigned to his fate, floofy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7298197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Q happen to be in the same restaurant; and they both happen to have been stood up. James catches on; Q doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date

James sauntered into the restaurant and sighed. Nope. No one at the table he’d specified. So his little dalliance had stood him up—again.

He didn’t care. This was the fifth time in a week that he’d lost out on a blind date; but that hardly mattered. What mattered was that there was someone else who looked to have been stood up.

James assessed him quickly, already moving. Not the fast type, he decided. Floppy hair, somewhat curled at the ends; very pale, probably never saw the sun except through windows; a prim, carefully expressionless face; dressed nicely, but not at all as formal as the other men here; and one hand was busy typing on a tablet laid on the table before him while the other fiddled with his napkin, folding it like an origami crane over and over again. Yes, James thought to himself. Yes, this one would do nicely.

“Waiting for someone?” he asked casually, when he was standing beside the young man’s table.

“Hm?” was the absent-minded answer, before it truly penetrated the lad’s awareness that there was someone there and talking to him. Then he looked up, blinking, and James saw a curious procession of emotions pass over his face. There was surprise, and confusion; and intimidation, followed by annoyance. There were others, too, but they were too fleeting for James to pin down. But after a moment, the lad scowled faintly, muttered, “I’m going to put thumbtacks in her keyboard for this,” and then looked straight into James’ eyes and said frankly, “Waiting for you, apparently.”

James put it together in a blink. Ah. He’d been stood up, didn’t know it, and thought James was the person he was supposed to be meeting.

Well. Why not have some fun then?

James smiled his most charming smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

~~~\0/~~~

Quintin was thoroughly annoyed and slightly daunted, but he refused to allow either emotion to show. He’d expected another boffin like him, not a tanned and toned muscled menace that introduced himself with a suave “Bond. James Bond.”

No, wait, that was unfair. He didn’t know if Mr. Bond was a menace or not. He just knew that his smile was predatory and his body language suggested that he wouldn’t be at all adverse to… doing things… after dinner.

Well, Quintin _was_ adverse to doing things. He had a conference to attend at 8AM sharp, and he’d already wasted a good twenty minutes waiting for this… this…

What was he, anyway?

“What exactly do you do, Mr. Bond?” Quintin asked, genuinely curious, but also wary. Eve _would_ set him up with a “fun” type with a frivolous occupation.

“James, please,” Mr. Bond replied with a smile. It looked more like a smirk. “I’m in security.”

“Security? As in personal security or just general?” since Quintin had no idea what other kinds there were. It didn’t sound frivolous at all, though. That was a point in Mr. Bond’s favor (Quintin refused to call him by first name this early in the game).

“Oh, my agency does all kinds,” Mr. Bond answered airily, waving one hand as if to brush the question aside. “I just finished a contract for bodyguard work. What about you?”

Quintin took a sip of wine while he thought. Well, no point lying about it. “I’m in tech support,” he answered. “Not as… exciting as security, I suppose.”

Mr. Bond chuckled. “Exciting? Hardly. Mostly it’s just sitting on my arse watching football or standing next to someone who thinks they’re important. The most exciting thing that’s ever happened was someone tried to stab the old man I was guarding. They got a broken neck in return.” Mr. Bond’s eyes glinted, and he looked downright dangerous—but then he smiled again and the air of danger receded. “Don’t worry, they didn’t die. They’re just paralyzed. I sent them some very nice flowers while they were in the hospital.”

Quintin nodded and wondered how long until dessert, and escape.

But Mr. Bond did not show that disturbing glimpse of danger again. He asked about Quintin’s life, and gave very few details of himself. Quintin decided this must be because security guards have very little life of their own. He wasn’t used to dominating the conversation… but Mr. Bond had a particular way of listening with a sober, attentive look that drew words from Quintin without his quite meaning to. That might also have been the three glasses of wine.

Dessert came. He was surprised; he hadn’t thought that much time had passed. He’d barely tasted his food, talking to Mr. Bond. It hadn’t all been personal; they’d also talked art, and the latest technological advances, which delighted Quintin. There had been a brief debate on cats versus lizards as pets. And as they dug into their tiramisu, they talked about guns. This made those at the neighboring tables lean away and cast them alarmed looks.

Just as they were finishing, Quintin’s phone buzzed. He considered ignoring it, but Mr. Bond—James—cut himself off and waited patiently, so Quintin sighed and took out his phone. It was a text from Eve. Of course, she’d want to know how the date was going.

He opened the message, and blinked.

_Hey, I’m sorry you got stood up. Jason only JUST texted me that he didn’t go. I’ll wring his neck for you if you want._

“Jason?” Quintin murmured to himself, confused. Was it a typo? He texted back, _He’s right here though._

_Is he?_

_Yes, but I think you misspelled his name. He says his name’s James._

_James who._

Quintin frowned. _James Bond._

_Quintin love, that’s not the guy I set you up with._

All color drained from Quintin’s face, but before he could panic, Eve quickly texted back, _He’s also a coworker of mine, though. You’re safe._

_I’m putting thumbtacks in your keyboard tomorrow._

“Are you alright?” Bond inquired, actually sounding concerned.

“I’m fine,” Quintin said faintly, then took a breath, looked up, and said, “You’re not Jason, then.”

James looked puzzled for a full second. Then his face went blank. “Ah. No,” he confirmed.

Quintin struggled with many emotions, then sighed and settled on resigned. After all, was it really any different from meeting that Jason fellow? They didn’t know each other, they had a friend in common (or at least acquaintance; he had no reason to doubt Eve), and they had just had a lovely dinner together.

“Alright, fine. I’ll give you my number. And you may as well call me Q; everyone else does.”

Bond’s surprise was almost comical. Quintin didn’t laugh.

~~~\0/~~~

James walked home in a thoughtful mood.

It was clear that Quintin—Q—had enjoyed their accidental date (well, not really accidental, but James liked lying). James himself had liked it too. Quin—Q—was intelligent, amusing, and quick, as well as attractive. No, call it what it was; he was beautiful. He was everything James preferred.

Except that this had probably been a one-off event. Even with Q’s number nestled snugly between that of other beautiful people’s in James’ phone, it was very probable that, having come to his senses, Q would delete James from his contacts. That wouldn’t be a bad thing, just inevitable.

James had just reached his flat when he received a text, from that field agent he admired, Moneypenny. Reading it in the dim light of the hallway, he had to grin.

Well. Maybe his number wouldn’t be deleted after all.


End file.
